January 12, 2014

 

 

She couldn’t eat that to save her life.

The smell of it made her heave.

She’d force down broccoli and even sprouts,

but fennel she would always leave.

 

 

 

January 10, 2014

 

 

She waited in the wings for decades.

Many a night, the floor she did pace.

Believing every word he fed her,

about the future they would face.

 

But when a man marries his mistress,

it creates a vacant space,

and although she won him in the end,

he often disappeared without any trace!

 

 

January 8, 2014

 

 

He’s coming down with something.

He says he feels it in his bones.

His voice is suddenly croaky,

and it’s coming out in groans.

 

His eyes have gone all weepy,

and his body language, grim.

His coughing, loud and dramatic,

no chance of ignoring him!

 

He’s infectious, like the plague.

We’ve been here oft before.

His sneezes reaching every corner,

from the ceiling to the floor.

 

A little boy once more,

demanding mother love,

and tucked up safely in his bed.

God give him strength from up above.

 

It’s just a simple winter cold,

but to him it’s epic man flu.

A good dose of castor oil,

will see him, good as new.

 

 

 

January 7, 2014

 

 

You can come along if you insist,

but leave behind that old tatty mac,

that you’ve had since Adam was a lad,

so bad, the charity shop gave it you back!

 

You can tag along if you really must,

but please do something with your hair.

It’s stuck up like a cockerels bum,

and it’s embarrassing when people stare.

 

You can mooch along, but don’t blame me,

if you find you are sat bored sick.

And I will have your guts for garters,

if you show me up and act like a prick!

 

 

 

January 4, 2014

 

 

Upstairs, just along the corridor,

and second door on the right,

is a room no one is allowed to enter,

and has never seen any daylight.

 

Although there is a sash window,

and nets hang, more grey now than white,

it is blocked out by internal oak shutters,

padlocked, and causing a shivery fright.

 

From the ceiling flow sheets of spiders webs,

which have connected themselves to each wall,

in a decorative pattern, somewhat sinister,

seen through the crack in the door, from the hall.

 

A once palatial mahogany chase long,

resides under the window sill,

still covered in threadbare green velvet;

an heirloom from old Sanctus Mill.

 

A foreboding black, cast iron fireplace,

is the focal point of the room.

Two mortified mice lie in the grate,

completing this picture of gloom.

 

The door nevertheless intriguing;

through the crack, we’ve spied by torchlight

since children, along with visiting cousins,

and school friends, who stayed overnight.

 

What happened in here remains a mystery,

as no-one, courage, has managed to pluck,

and enter the room, just in case doing so,

brings them, a lifetime of unwanted bad luck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 2, 2014

 

 

How normal tomorrow will feel,

when we are back together as a team.

And all that we took for granted,

has been tested to the extreme.

 

How close once again we will be,

even closer, than ever before.

And should anyone dare come between us,

for certain, they’ll be shown the door.

 

How grateful for tomorrow’s promised ride.

A day, we wondered if we’d ever see?

Now with hindsight and luck on our side,

we can go forward, so happily carefree.

 

 

 

December 26, 2013

 

 

I miss your eccentricities

that endeared you to all classes.

And your peculiarities,

even more now as time passes.

 

Your protective way, so unconditional,

and basic values, held steadfast.

Your bloody minded stubbornness,

and rages that came forth with full blast.

 

I miss your way of always knowing,

exactly how to struggle through.

Your bravery in all things,

and dogged determination too.

 

Your strength through life’s adversities,

your nervousness, never on view.

I miss your loyalty, there, I’ve said it.

Oh damn and blast – and you.

 

 

 

 

 

So cruel and how,

the punishment unjust.

Now scarred from burns,

alas, the price of lust.

 

A lonely moment

needing to be loved.

When from pillow to post

one has been shoved.

 

When all around are folks

appearing so self absorbed.

Never seeing the writing,

that on the wall, is daubed.

 

In bold letters tall,

illuminated by the moon,

pleading; feel me, touch me,

and could you make it soon.

 

Make sense the madness

going around my head.

I too have needs,

I don’t just supply the bread.

 

Not often, true,

but sometimes I bleed.

A throbbing self doubt,

that does on weakness feed.

 

An isolated emptiness,

whilst stood amongst my own.

I watch you all so enthralled,

yet, feel to you, I am unknown.

 

Some days an uphill grind.

A treadmill I can’t control.

My insecurity exacerbating;

the dread of being on the dole.

 

 All this, and more I handle,

acting out life, as if a breeze.

If only now and then,

You’d give me a loving squeeze.

 

Or hold my hand when walking,

like when we danced and twirled.

And you love me, as you once did,

and let me back inside your world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Concerned about

their blocked up sink,

that is slow to empty,

and has a stink.

 

She awoke not having

slept, but a wink,

knowing again he’d scratch

his head and think.

 

Like yesterday, when he said

‘you need a plunger’.

Then just wandered off,

as if one, she could conjure

 

miraculously, out of the blue,

like some super magician  –

His lazed remark,

causing much contrition!

 

 

So before more pearls of wisdom

he could offer today.

She rang the plumber,

who said ‘he was on his way’.

 

 

December 18, 2013

 

 

It’s just a place

where he can be

alone and have

some privacy.

 

It’s just four walls

with his own door,

away from siblings

on the second floor.

 

It’s just his space

where he can aspire,

to be who he wants

in his hearts desire.

 

It’s just a haven

where he hangs free,

away from nagging

and complexity.

 

 

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